h to see me," said Jack. "All that
affair must have troubled her."

"I don't know how that is. She has been in town ever since, and he
certainly went down to Brotherton. He has come up, I suppose, in
consequence of this row between the Dean and his brother. I wonder what
really did happen?"

"They say that there was a scuffle and that the parson had very much
the best of it. The police were sent for, and all that kind of thing. I
suppose the Marquis said something very rough to him."

"Or he to the Marquis, which is rather more likely. Well,--good-day,
Jack." They were now at the house-door in Berkeley Square. "Don't come
in, because Houghton will be here." Then the door was opened. "But take
my advice, and go and call in Munster Court at once. And, believe me,
when you have found out what one woman is, you have found out what most
women are. There are no such great differences."

It was then six o'clock, and he knew that in Munster Court they did not
dine till near eight. There was still time with a friend so intimate as
he was for what is styled a morning call. The words which his cousin
had spoken had not turned him,--had not convinced him. Were he again
tempted to speak his real mind about this woman,--as he had spoken in
very truth his real mind,--he would still express the same opinion. She
was to him like a running stream to a man who had long bathed in
stagnant waters. But the hideous doctrines which his cousin had
preached to him were not without their effect. If she were as other
women,--meaning such women as Adelaide Houghton,--or if she were not,
why should he not find out the truth? He was well aware that she liked
him. She had not scrupled to show him that by many signs. Why should he
scruple to say a word that might show him how the wind blew? Then he
remembered a few words which he had spoken, but which had been taken so
innocently, that they, though they had been meant to be mischievous,
had become innocent themselves. Even things impure became pure by
contact with her. He was sure, quite sure, that that well-known pupil
of Satan, his cousin, was altogether wrong in her judgment. He knew
that Adelaide Houghton could not recognise, and could not appreciate, a
pure woman. But still,--still it is so poor a thing to miss your plum
because you do not dare to shake the tree! It is especially so, if you
are known as a professional stealer of plums!

When he got into Piccadilly, he put himself into a cab,